Fractured
by koumeii
Summary: Clara has been hiding her powers since childhood, never once thinking about becoming a superhero. But when trouble begins to finds her, Clara finds herself forced into a unwitting alliance with her friend's suspicious chemistry tutor, Peter Parker, and thrust into the middle of a dangerous situation far too close to home. [Peter x OC]
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Had to delete this story and reupload it because there was something wrong.**_

 _ **This takes place after Homecoming, in the same school year, and before Infinity War. I'm not too sure on any of this timeline stuff so please just suspend your disbelief for the sake of the story. Also, Aunt May doesn't know Peter's Spiderman in this story.**_

* * *

Clara shouldn't have interfered with that ATM robbery last night.

She wasn't some superhero. There was no tacky mask, no stupid spandex suit, or any desire at all to become some makeshift crime fighter. All she had wanted to do was clear her head a bit, but at this point she had completely regretted even sneaking out of her house in the first place. She purposely made sure all of her midnight explorations of New York were never on a school night. The lack of sleep would probably have her falling asleep in most of her classes the next day.

Of course, the one time she decided otherwise and everything had to turn to shit.

It was just her luck to run into two idiots robbing a poor woman at an ATM at 3:00 a.m.— an ordeal that had set her far behind her usual schedule. So now it was five o'clock on a freezing cold January morning, and Clara was walking hastily down the streets of New York in blood soaked clothes, trying to make it home in time to get to school.

She had tried to solve it diplomatically, at first. But when she asked the men to stop, and they just laughed. At just five foot six, they didn't seem to find her very intimidating. That was until she broke one guy's hand, and shoved the other face-first into the ground. She couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for them afterwards. Super-strength wasn't really a distinguishable physical feature, and so they never saw it coming.

The lady she was saving bolted without so much as a 'thank you', and somewhere between it all, one of the robbers had managed to cut her with a penknife, clean across her forearm. Clara hadn't been so much upset about the wound, but rather the new hole in her jacket sleeve that was beyond repair. The pain had started to disappear the second it came. Where the cut used to be was now just smooth skin, nothing more than a thin white scar, and even that was fading. She never asked for her powers, but they had their perks.

After what felt like hours of walking, she finally reached her home.

It was a three-story townhouse in the most expensive neighbourhood in Queens. She glanced up and down the empty street before fitting her fingers in the grooves of the stone wall and pulling herself upwards, climbing with ease until she reached the second floor. She could only imagine how furious her mother would be to find out she'd been sneaking out of the house. For that reason alone she never left or reentered through the front door.

That being said, if her mother ever caught her doing this, she'd have a lot more explaining to do. Blood soaked and breaking into her own house?

Quietly, Clara pulled open the window to her bedroom and climbed through. _6:23 a.m_. That left just enough time to shower and eat breakfast before school. She changed out of last night's clothes, and shucked them in a box under her bed so the maids wouldn't find them. Once she was clean and proper, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. The large curtains of the living room were pulled open, encompassing the floor in morning sunlight, and spanning an incredible view of the city below. It was all still eerily silent.

She was surprised, however, to find her mother sitting at the dining room table.

"Good morning, dear."

Joanna Lockwood smiled at her curtly. She looked as exquisite as she always did. Black hair tied back into an immaculate bun, lips painted a deep red, finely-manicured fingers curled delicately around the handle of her teacup. Clara made sure to smile as she walked to the pantry.

"You're not working today?" she asked the older woman. Her mother worked at a law firm in Manhattan.

"My morning meeting was pushed back," her mother said. "I'll be leaving shortly."

From there, breakfast was the quiet event it usually was; the presence of her mother didn't make it any different. Her mother wasn't particularly one for small-talk, which always made concealing her secret that much easier, among other things. Clara made herself toast and a mug of coffee, and ate at the other end of the table as she organised her school books. Christmas break had just ended, and everything had fallen back into rhythm fast. Between school, her midnight escapades, and her part-time job Clara's schedule was beginning to get too busy to handle.

Her mother broke their silence just as she got up to put her plate in the sink.

"Principal Morita tells me you didn't score well on your last chemistry test."

As if it were never there to begin with, her mother's pleasant facade vanished, replaced with what Clara could only describe as disappointment.

Clara felt herself tense. The _one_ class she struggled with, one of the few tests she'd scored poorly on, and _of course_ her mother had gone out of her way to find out about it. Her mind blanked for a second as she struggled to think of the appropriate response. Offer an excuse? She had only ever made that mistake once in her life when she had failed her fifth grade spelling test, and never done it again. There were no such things as excuses in the eyes of her mother.

It didn't help that her father had been both the founder and owner of New York's leading research facility, Lockwood Labs. "He was a truly brilliant scientist" people had described him to her many times before. If not for the unnerving look of displeasure on her mother's face, Clara might have found the idea her constant struggle with science amusing.

"Well, I expect better, and your father would have too," her mother then continued. There was a brief moment of sadness in her eyes. "I don't have the time nor energy to manage your shortcomings for you."

Clara's mouth tightened into a tense line. Her father was dead. As if throwing around his hypothetical expectations of her really meant anything.

"Of course not," she agreed. "It won't happen again. I'm sorry."

* * *

The walk from the townhouse to Midtown High was about fifteen minutes. Her mother had insisted on using their private driver in the beginning of the year, but Clara hated the idea. Most of the school already knew her family was rich, she certainly didn't need to go around reminding them.

Once Clara was inside the building she ducked through the sea of people and made her way to her locker. Most of the faces in Midtown she recognised, but on name basis only. She sometimes wondered what they would think if they knew what she really was. If they knew she'd spent the early hours of the day beating up thugs; that she could lift a car, or her skin and bones magically put themselves back together. Would they fear her? Clara didn't think so. In times like these, most of them would probably think it was cool.

"Clara!"

Her attention turned to find Elias Becker pushing through a crowd of students, grinning as he made his way towards her. His brown hair was still damp from showering, and dripping wet spots into his t-shirt. He'd probably just come from morning basketball practice.

"How was your weekend?"

 _Stopped a robbery, nearly got stabbed._

"The usual, pretty boring," Clara told him. She took out some books from her backpack and stuffed them into her locker. Like her mother, Elias knew nothing about her secret, and she intended to keep it that way.

"I heard there's a party at Megan Selby's house next Friday. You coming?"

Maria raised her eyebrow. "You hate Megan Selby."

"True," he said, amber eyes shining. "But I love parties, and her hot friend Emily's gonna be there."

"You're a dog."

"If by that you mean I'm loyal and irresistibly cute, thank you. Tell me something I don't know." With the combination of smooth honey skin, strong jawline, and long, dark eyelashes, Elias Becker was undeniably attractive. But Clara would never give him the satisfaction of hearing that. Upon catching the annoyed expression of her face, his grin disappeared. "And I guess I'll take your attendance as a no."

"Good guess."

As Elias began a lengthy dialogue on the inner workings of Megan Selby's friend circle, Clara couldn't help but drown him out. He had been her only close friend since middle school, and had somehow managed to stick around far longer than she had intended. He was just about as cynical of the world as she was, so Clara didn't mind him most of the time.

Their first period was chemistry, the very class Clara was dreading. Within the first ten minutes of class Clara realised her caffeine buzz was beginning to wear off, and Cobbwell had excitedly begun a discussion on intermolecular forces of attraction. The words he was saying went in one ear and out the next, and Clara couldn't tell whether it was because it was boring, or she just wasn't understanding any of it. She sunk back into her seat and shut her eyes for a second. The only way to appease her mother would be to ace the next test. That meant no more wasting time sneaking out in the middle of the night, for now at least. She had to start taking this class a bit more seriously.

Halfway into class, she heard Elias groan quietly from the seat beside her.

"This class will be the death of me."

Since middle school, Elias had been borderline failing every class that wasn't English or History. He was, perhaps, what one would consider more 'street smart'. Truthfully, Clara thought that he'd fair pretty well academically, if he actually put his brain to good use. The problem happened to be exactly that: Elias rarely put his brain to things he didn't want to to, and one of those things just so happened to be schoolwork ("The best education one can ever receive is experience in life," he'd once told her, or something stupid like that.)

"Same," Maria agreed. "My mother's on my back about the last test."

"Shit. You didn't fail it, did you?"

Clara shook her head. "But you know how she is."

Elias gave her an understanding look. She'd confided in him many times before. "What does she want you to be? Biochemist extraordinaire? Steven Hawking? Your mom's a total psycho."

Clara didn't feel the need to point out to him that Steven Hawking was actually a physicist. "I know," was all she said.

"You should try tutoring, or study group," he said, and motioned over to something behind her. "Cobbwell's got Peter Parker helping me after all those tests I bombed at the start of the year." He suddenly got a proud look on his face. "Hated it at first, but haven't failed a test since."

Clara turned her head to the opposite end of the room, to where Elias was pointing. Peter Parker sat near the front row against the far corner. She recognised him from a few of her classes, vaguely. She knew him best as the guy who'd ditched Liz Toomes at Homecoming, which happened right before her father was arrested for selling stolen alien tech. Clara remembered that had been a crazy few weeks for school gossip.

"He's literally getting perfect scores, even has some internship at with Tony Stark or something," Elias continued. "We meet up after school today in the library. I'll let him know you're coming, he probably won't mind."

Clara narrowed her eyes. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Aw come on, why not?" he asked.

"I don't need a tutor."

"Don't need one, or don't want to need one? It's okay to get a bit of help once and a while, you know?" he said.

Clara quickly glanced away, focusing on the haphazard writing in her notebook. Elias' assertiveness was always difficult to deal with. "No," she told him. "I'm just not much of a group learner. Besides, I have work at the diner after school today, I couldn't go even if I wanted to."

Elias frowned disappointedly, and for a moment he seemed to drop it. Then, his eyes narrowed. " _You liar_ ," he declared, looking the slightest bit offended. "You only waitress there on Mondays and Thursdays. How stupid do you think I am? Did you really think I'd fall for that?"

Clara shrugged. "You almost did."

"At least try it out," he urged. "Plus, it'd be great to have someone with me for emotional support. Just co—"

Elias' sentence stopped short, and Clara suddenly realised the entire class had grown silent. At the front of the room, Mr Cobbwell's shifted an annoyed stare between the two of them.

"Mr Becker, Miss Lockwood. Is there something important you'd care to share with the class?"

* * *

 _ **A/N: Leave a review letting me know what you thought! Feel free to point out any errors you see me make in the future, now and in the future (spelling errors, grammar, characters that are OOC). I'm always down to go back and make changes to my writing. Haven't really included any canon characters yet, but they'll definitely come the next chapter!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has favorited and followed this story so far! I'll try make an effort to respond to comments at the end of each chapter from now on (especially if they contain a question)._**

 ** _Important note, I also ended up making some minor changes to the first chapter (for the sake of story). Essentially, to save any of you from having to reread to find the changes: Clara's father is dead now instead of alive._**

* * *

She was going to kill him.

First Elias had gotten her in trouble with Cobbwell, and now that school was over he was dragging her (quite literally) to his tutoring session in the library. His large hand had a firm grip around the strap of her schoolbag, with no indication of letting go. If her mood had been any worse, Clara might have even hit him. Elias towered over her by a few inches, built with sturdy muscle from years of playing sports, but she could easily break free of his grasp if she really wanted to.

But for now, Clara figured she'd go along with it. It would save her the time of having to go learn it all by herself. How bad could it be?

"Hey, Peter!" Elias called out once they'd reached a small table at the back of the library. Peter Parker pulled his earbuds from his ears and turned to look at them. From across the room, Clara saw the librarian shoot them a dirty look. "I brought a friend, hope you don't mind. She's having a bit of trouble in Cobwell's class too."

Elias truly had no shame. As if he'd even asked Parker first before bringing her.

"Hi." Despite her discomfort, she smiled at Peter. She could be polite when she needed to be. "I'm Clara."

Slowly, and almost clumsily, he acknowledged her presence. She pretended not to notice when a blush started forming on his cheeks. He looked at her the same way most guys had since she'd turned fourteen. Every time they had P.E. one of Elias' basketball buddies, Damien, looked at her a little too enthusiastically, always when he thought she wasn't looking. At this point, it barely phased her anymore.

"I— uh— I'm Peter." He cleared his throat. "And y-yeah, no problem."

Elias beamed. "Great!" He pulled out the chair opposite side of the table and begun taking out his study material. Clara took the seat beside him. "I gotta thank you, man. I know Cobbwell's forcing you to help me and all, but I did the practice sheet you gave me and got a B-minus on the last test. I really owe you one."

"That's awesome," Peter smiled. "And you're right. Cobbwell's definitely forcing me. That, and the extra credit's pretty nice."

Elias laughed. "Your more of a smart-ass than I remember, Parker," he said. "Anyways, there were a few questions on the test I completely bombed though…"

As Peter began to help Elias, Clara looked over him. She did so only for a brief moment, so not to make it obvious she was staring at him. The neatly styled brown hair and Millennium Falcon sweatshirt might have given most people the impression of the garden-variety nerd, but Clara could just make out the shapes of his muscles beneath the fabric, some of it just barely visible near his neckline. Unlike Elias, he wasn't large and bulky, instead lean and solid. She'd never spoken to him before this, nor ever been this close, so she'd never really noticed. But now looking closer, his good physique seemed quite obvious.

 _Strange_ , she thought to herself. She wouldn't have pegged him for the type to work out.

When the two boys were done with the test questions, Elias moved onto writing study notes in his book. Peter finally turned to her. Unlike when he'd been talking to Elias, with her he seemed nervous. She almost felt the need to tell him there was no reason to be so flustered, but her common sense told her that would probably just make it worse.

"So," he said. "You uh… You wanted help with something?"

For his sake, Clara tried her best to seem has friendly as possible. Though she wasn't too sure how it was coming across. It was rare that she ever tried to be accomodating for the sake of others, but something about Peter made her feel like being nice for once.

"There's a few questions I keep losing points on in tests. Mostly the topic we use did on electrochemistry and fuel cells, I guess." she told him. "And sorry to come here out of the blue," she added. "It's just for today, Elias told me you're some kind of genius."

"No, no, it's fine!" His blush —which had since disappeared— returned suddenly. Clara couldn't help but think he reminded her somewhat of a skittish puppy. Like a golden retriever, or a labrador. "D-Do you have some old test papers? I can go through them if you want and help you with the questions you got wrong."

"Yeah, sure." Clara opened her backpack pulled out her chemistry binder. She intended to hand it over to him. Instead, she fumbled and it slip out of her grasp.

As far as her powers went, between weirdly accelerated healing and super-strength, fast reflexes didn't happen to be one of them. Her mind prepared for it to fall to the ground.

Until it didn't.

So fast that it was almost a blur, Peter's hand reached to catch it. Clara blinked. For a second, her mind struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Her brows furrowed.

"Sorry," she eventually said. "My fingers slipped."

She must have had a weird expression on her face, because Peter smiled awkwardly. "Good reflexes, I guess."

 _Insanely good reflexes._

He opened her binder and pulled out her old chemistry tests. He frowned as he flipped through them, looking at the grades circled in red at the top of each. "Your grades are already pretty good."

"But not perfect," Elias piped. "You can't score less than perfect on a chemistry test when your late dad's Dean Lockwood."

A look of awe suddenly dawned on Peter's face. Whatever awkwardness he held before had suddenly been thrown out the window for what looked to be nerdy excitement.

"Dean Lockwood was your father? Like the geneticist?"

"That's him," Clara sighed. Reactions like this had happened to her more than once, especially when you went to a school which had the full name of 'Midtown School of Science and Technology'. Some of her father's scientific findings were, no joke, part of the school's learning material, which always made for an odd learning experience. She turned to Elias with narrowed eyes. "And don't you just love telling everyone that?"

"My bad." Elias smiled sheepishly, turning his attention reluctantly back to his work.

But Peter was brimming with excitement. "That's so awesome though! I read one of his papers on experimental gene therapies last year. He's was a total genius!" His eyes suddenly widened, as if he just seemed to realise something. "At least, before he uh…"

"Died?" Clara said, raising her eyebrow.

"Y-yeah," he stammered. "I'm sorry, I didn't me—"

"Chill," she reassured him, before he could go any further. "I was only seven when he died, I don't remember him that well anyways." She tapped the back of her pencil against the table. "Unfortunately for me, I haven't seemed to inherit much of his scientific talent."

The excitement of Clara's family lineage concluded quickly, and all three of them turned back to work. The had atmosphere become tense, she could tell Peter felt as though he's said something wrong.

That was the natural reaction to the idea of death, she supposed, not that she could empathise with it very well. Her memories of her father were for the most part absent, just glimpses of random memories and blurry faces. Clara was fairly certain the only reason she knew what her father looked like was from their old family photos in their living room. If anything, the sadness she felt about it stemmed from the fact that no matter how much she tried, she _couldn't_ really remember who her father was.

From across the table, Peter had picked up one of her test papers, and was looking over it. Without much hesitation, he leaned across the table towards her, showing her a question on last weeks test that she had missed.

"Um… so for this question you could have written that the ester functions as a better fuel because it's less likely to experience incomplete combustion, which would happen with a low supply of oxygen." He paused momentarily. "Another answer could be that there's less dispersion forces. And for this question…" He moved to the question below it, and began scribbling down an equation. "If the output is zero point eight for the hydrogen fuel cell, you can just calculate its thermal efficiency with this."

Clara took a moment to think about the words that had just come out of his mouth, Peter had said it as if it were the most simple thing in the world, like reciting the ABCs.

Finally, she sighed. The corners of her lips curled slightly. "What I'd do to have a brain like yours."

That seemed to elicit a quiet laugh from Peter, and a mutter of "same" from Elias. "Just gotta study really hard, I guess," he replied sheepishly.

Something told Clara that no matter how much she studied she'd still fall short to him.

The lapsed into silence as Clara took the time write down the correct answers in her notebook, with Peter helping her out with another question every few minutes. She supposed this wasn't entirely as bad as she was expecting it to be, at least she was learning something. Hopefully, it was enough to do well enough on the next test. The three of them continued like that for over an hour, and strangely enough by that point, her mother's expectations were the farthest thing on her mind.

"Oh shit check this out."

In the midst of what was meant to be studying, Elias had at some point taken out his phone (lasting longer than Clara had predicted, actually). He flipped it around so her and Peter could see the screen.

"There's new footage of Spider-man stopping that bank robbery in Forest Avenue. He's taking on like… six guys!"

The video seemed to be security footage inside a bank. Six men, armed with what looked to be machine guns, stood over about a dozen civilians. Almost too quick to see, a flash of red flies across the screen, and suddenly one of the men is down. Then another. And a third is pinned to the wall in a net of webbing. The red figure stops suddenly in the centre of the video, now more clearly recognisable as Spider-man. He dodges as one of the men shoots at him. In a sequence of punches, and a onslaught of kicks and flips, the rest of the robbers were taken down.

Videos like this had surfaced and spread like wildfire over the last few months, ever since the emergence of Spider-man as Queens very own superhero. Stopping robberies, holding sinking ferries together, assisting in the capture of Adrian Toomes. The larger Spider-man's repertoire grew the more Midtown High, and the world, seemed to be engrossed with him.

"How cool was that? God, what I'd give for superpowers. I'd be the most kick-ass superhero."

At Elias' words, Clara kept her expression straight. If only he were fully aware of who he was sitting beside— that she'd been lying to him for years. She had a rational gut feeling that, if she ever told him, he'd probably hate her.

"Spandex would look great on you," she said.

Detecting the sarcasm in her voice, Elias crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "I'd look awesome in it, thank you very much." She flashed him a warm smile, to which he quickly reciprocated with the middle finger, and watched as he turned to Peter. "Anyways, don't you know Spider-man, Peter?"

Peter shifted in his seat.

"W-What? Why would I know Spider-man?"

"Rumour I heard from someone," Elias shrugged. "I mean, you have that internship with Tony Stark right?" he continued. "Have you met the rest of the Avengers? What about Thor? I seriously want to meet him one day."

Clara snorted. "And you think Thor would want to meet you?"

Elias ignored her. "Well, have you?"

"Of course I haven't met the Avengers," Peter said. The tone in his voice was contained a hint of defensiveness. He laughed. "That's ridiculous."

The conversation dwindled into uncomfortable silence, until the loud ring of a phone ended it. It was Peter's.

Clara snuck a glance at the caller ID.

 _Aunt May._

Peter almost jumped to his feet, scrambling for his phone and almost dropping it in the process.

"Oh crap. I gotta go. I'm gonna be late for dinner." He stuffed his books into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, then looked to Elias. "Same time next week, yeah? Get the practice sheets done and I'll check your answers for you."

As he was hurrying out of the library, he turned back and waved.

"Nice to meet you, Clara!"

* * *

 ** _A/N: I'm a little bit unhappy with the length of this chapter (and the last), but I thought this was the right place to end it. The next few chapters I'm going to try have the word count at at least 3000 words per chapter._**

 ** _This also might be a good time to mention that this story is going to be a slow burn. I'm not really into stories that jump straight into friendship/romance because in reality its sooo unrealistic and usually ruins the story for me. I'm also planning for this story to have a mystery/crime element to it, which obviously takes more time to develop._**

 ** _Anyways, thank you to anyone who continued on to read the second chapter!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: 13 follows and 8 favourites in my first two chapters? Thank you guys so much! Knowing there's people out there who are reading this is really motivational :)_**

* * *

 _Everything was spinning._

 _Her vision was fading in and out, between blinding white lights and darkness. She couldn't move properly, her hands and feet were tied down to something. There was a sharp pain in her arm, like the prick of a needle, and then it suddenly started erupting over every inch of her body. The feeling was like she was being burned from the inside out._

 _She could feel a hand on her shoulder, squeezing almost reassuringly. A voice beside her was saying something, but she couldn't make out any of the words. She could barely even hear the sound of her own screaming. A painful surge of adrenaline pulsated through her veins, her bones felt like they were beginning to break—_

Clara woke with a start, her alarm clock blaring on her bedside table. Her hand flew out to silence it, resonating on impact with a loud _bang_. She barely felt the smashed pieces of plastic against her palm. Her skin was covered in cold sweat, she struggled to catch her breath. In her chest, her heart seemed to be going a hundred miles per hour.

 _What a weird dream._

She swung her legs off her bed and checked her phone for the time, running a hand through her disheveled black hair. Tears had welled in her eyes, she wiped them away hastily with the sleeve of her pyjama shirt.

 _6:59 a.m._

When the pounding of her heart finally slowed, she went to the bathroom to wash the sweat off her face. It was Thursday, two days since she'd sat in on Elias' tutoring session. She dressed and headed downstairs. Her mother didn't have work today, so Clara expected to see her before she left for school. What she didn't expect, was to hear the sound of a second person in her house. Trying to figure out who it was, she slowed her pace. Through the first floor's front windows she could see a silver Mercedes parked outside on the street.

"Ah, Clara's finally awake I see."

A middle aged man in a grey suit was standing there, smiling warmly at her.

"Uncle Robert," Clara addressed the man. He looked like he had just arrived, standing in the living room with expensive oxfords still on. "What are you doing here?"

Robert had once been her father's co-worker, as well as his older brother. At forty five years old, he was a man of average build and the same dark brown hair as her father, as well as salt and pepper stubble along a sharp jawline. After her father's death, he had been the one to take over Lockwood Labs. Clara had always felt indifferent about him. He was okay, she supposed, and nice as far as nice uncles went, but they certainly weren't close. Being the CEO of a major research company, Clara surmised he wouldn't have much time for anything outside of work.

Her mother on the other hand, was different. For whatever reason, Joanna didn't like Robert. He was too rough around the edges, or maybe he reminded her too much of her late husband. But Joanna's businesswoman charisma masked any of that through kind smiles and engaging small-talk.

"I just got back from a business trip in Philly, thought I'd drop in to visit my favourite niece," Robert told her. He reached forward and tousled her hair. "Long time no see, kiddo."

"In Philadelphia?" her mother inquired, eyebrows raising. She sat on the living rooms bergère armchair, long legs crossed at the ankle. "I wasn't aware the company had a laboratory up there."

The corners of his eyes crinkles in something that looked like smile. "Just a new business venture we're exploring," he replied. "It's nothing all that interesting, really. I assume work at the firm is treating you well?"

"Well enough." Her mother looked content with a brief response. "Clara," she interjected, turning towards her suddenly. "What was that noise I heard earlier?"

For a split-second, Clara's mind blanked.

"My alarm clock fell," she then lied. "I think I'll need to buy a new one."

Clara's uncle seemed to think it was funny, which discontinued further questioning from her mother. He looked around the house, taking in all its features as if he were painting a mental picture in his mind.

"This place hasn't changed one bit," he mused. His eyes found the bookshelf, and fell on the neatly assorted boxes of papers and documents that had once belonged to her father. "You still keep all this rubbish? If you want I can help you get rid of some of it, I've got a warehouse downtown."

Joanna smiled tenderly. "You know I can't bring myself to get rid of any of Dean's things."

That much was true. As high-strung and refined as her mother appeared to be, she was also oddly sentimental, refusing to throw out any of her father's belongings after his death. Similar to how parents who had lost their child preserved their memory in an untouched bedroom, still filled with their favourite toys, Joanna Lockwood had maintained her father's study. It was a small room down there hall, where Clara presumed he'd spent most of his time working. When the maids were in, they dusted and vacuumed, but never moved or reorganised a thing.

When her uncle moved, Clara's eyes followed him as he walked past her to pick up a framed photograph from the bookshelf. It showed both her parents standing around a younger version of herself. All three of them were laughing, even her mother; Clara looked barely older than five when it had been taken. Her uncle looked at it with almost a pained expression. Clara had always got the impression he'd taken her father's death particularly hard.

"The anniversary was about two weeks ago, huh?" Robert mulled. Clara knew the question was rhetorical. He turned to her. "My brother would be so proud to see how you've grown."

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. All this talk of her father these past few days was more than she cared for. Joanna took the opportunity to stand from her chair.

"Clara," she said suddenly. "Why don't you fix up some breakfast? I'm sure Robert's hungry from the drive up here." She turned to Robert. "I'll make you some coffee while you wait."

"That would be great, Joanna."

Clara was frying the eggs and bacon in the kitchen when her uncle came to talk to her again.

"So, how's school been?" he asked, nursing a coffee in hand. He eyed her suspiciously. "Any boyfriends I should know about? What about that one kid? Elias, was it?"

Clara nearly laughed. She was sure Elias would have gagged if he were in the room. Her mother, who had now taken seat at the dining table just meters away, revealed the slightest hint of interest.

"He's just a friend," Clara replied. She hesitated, but stopped herself from looking to her mother. "And school's been fine."

"Your mother's pushing you hard in your studies, I bet," he muttered, so her mother couldn't hear. He smiled, almost childishly. "Don't stress it too much, kiddo. I never studied too hard."

"Please don't encourage her, Robert," Joanna cut in. Clearly, she had heard. Her gaze wandered out the window, disinterested. "Clara's already struggling in school, she doesn't need any more negative influences."

Clara trained her attention back on the bacon and eggs in front of her, trying to focus to the sizzle of oil rather than the conversation that was unfolding. Her mother had never been scared to talk about her when she was in the room.

"Aw, I doubt that," Robert said. Clara wanted to warn him to stop talking. "She's a smart kid. You're always too hard on her."

Her mother's posture straightened. "I just try to guide her in the right direction," she retorted. "She wastes most of her time working a stupid job she doesn't need, and hanging out with frie—"

Robert laughed. "Isn't that what kids are meant to do?"

"Certainly not my child," her mother bristled.

"Don't you think Dean would have wanted her raised like any other child?"

Her mother's brown eyes narrowed. Clara could see her her sleek fingers tightening around her mug. "My daughter needs to properly learn the realities of life." Her voice was dangerously low. "That things aren't always just handed to you with no costs."

The sheer tone in her mother's voice caused Clara to flinch. She gasped when the side of her hand brushed against the searing hot metal of the frying pan, feeling the burnt skin immediately begin to blister. Both her mother, and uncle turned towards her.

Quickly, Clara pulled her hand away, closing it tightly into a fist.

 _Shit._

"Did you burn yourself?" her uncle asked, starting to walk over towards the medicine cabinet above the sink.

 _"No, don't."_ It was a knee-jerk reaction, and she'd clearly said it with too much force, because her mother looked startled.

"What on Earth are you talking about?" Robert moved towards her to try get a better look. He eyed her suspiciously, as though he knew she was hiding something. "Let me see."

The burn was healing, she could feel it. A warm, tingling sensation that meant her damaged skin was sewing itself back together like fabric. She waited the painstaking few seconds for the feeling to leave.

"It's nothing, really," Clara reaffirmed, this time more calmly. She pulled her hand up from beneath the table and showed them. "False alarm."

Her uncle sighed. "Gotta be more careful around fire, kiddo," he said. "Burns don't heal nicely."

"I'll try," she told him.

If only he knew for her, that wasn't the case at all.

* * *

Once the school day was over Clara headed into the direction of her part-time job.

She spent after school on Monday's and Thursday's working at a diner in the city. It certainly wasn't akin to a Starbucks, instead a rather small, local place called 'The Milkshake', owned by a seventy-something year old lady named Miriam. She had started there just at the beginning of the school year for some extra cash and experience. Her mother hated it, much preferring Clara to get some internship somewhere more 'legitimate', but that sounded like a nightmare. Sure, the diner wasn't the ideal job, but the pay was good, the work was minimal, and it kept her busy for a few hours.

And after spending the better part of the day thinking about the the near-disastrous incident with her mother and uncle in the morning, she was desperate for anything to distract her.

By the time she reached the diner to start her shift, the sun was already beginning to set. The lighting was low and there was music playing - jazz, from a small radio in the corner. Everything about the establishment was cosy and unsophisticated, and at this time of the day there were never many customers. There were a group of men at the counter, watching the night's football game from the television in the corner. Another couple were seated at one of the booths, laughing and gossiping over hot chocolate and tea.

Aside from them, nobody else.

A second girl, Leah, worked the counter with her. Clara didn't know much about Leah other than that she was a college theatre student, and far too talkative for her liking, especially concerning what seemed to be her rather extravagant and emotional social life. It was always about an hour into their shift where Leah started to get especially chatty.

"And so I caught Justin making out with Anna backstage, while everyone was rehearsing the play! Which was _super_ fucked up because I thought he was meant to be Chelsey's boyfriend," Leah started to tell her.

Clara had never watched a soap opera before, but she was fairly certain she wouldn't need to after this.

Much to Clara's dismay, it didn't sound like Leah was going to stop anytime soon. "And now I don't know whether I should say anything or not," she whined. "Because she's the lead and I'm worried because we don't even have an understudy in case she has like, an emotional breakdown or something…"

Leah was too naive to know Clara wasn't listening, or maybe she just needs to vent and didn't really care. Every few seconds Clara would nod, or smile while the older girl went on and on. When there was nothing left to do, she cleaned the counter in front of her with a rag, scrubbing down in an effort to remove all the coffee stains.

"—so I'm just so conflicted at the moment, but at the same time," Leah continued. "I'm her friend, y'know? I mean morally I can't just _not_ tell her. That would be a complete betrayal of trust—"

When diner's front bell rang, and a customer walked inside, Clara was certain God had heard her prayers.

The customer walked towards the counter to take his order, stopping just before Clara. It was a man.

At first glance, Clara almost wished she could go back to Leah's rambling.

He held a stifling presence. Broad shoulders were covered in a black t-shirt and jacket, paired with a Yankees cap and boots. Blonde hair cropped short, sharp blue eyes, and even white teeth. Undoubtedly, his most distinguishable feature was the long, hideous scar that ran from his cheek down to his jawline. He looked like ex-military, or a retired cop at least— there was just something about the way he carried himself, how he managed to look so out of place compared to the rest of the diner's patrons. Rather than staring at the menu, to Clara it seemed more like he was staring at her.

After some deliberation, he finally ordered. "I'll have a medium cappuccino, no sugar." His voice was rough, and toneless.

Clara input the order numbers into the register. "To go?" she asked.

The man smiled, there was something off about it. "I'll have it here, thanks."

Once his order was complete, the man took his drink and sat down in the booth by the window.

"Call me crazy, but that guy looks like a total creep," Leah whispered to her a while later. "It's like he's some gang member crossed with ugly, slightly younger Robert De Niro or something."

The last thing Clara wanted to do was entertain another one of Leah's extravagant theories. "Yeah," she muttered, then forced a small laugh.

But this time Clara didn't think she was wrong.

Something about this man rubbed her the wrong way.

The man with the scar sat at his table long after his coffee was finished, staring at a newspaper in front of him that he wasn't even reading. Leah had forgotten about him quickly, but Clara looked over to him every so often until he eventually stood up and left.

Maybe she was just overreacting.

So she went back to work, forgetting the interaction even happened. Every so often, she served the diner's new customers, or brought them refills. A few times, she even made more casual conversation with Leah, which the latter seemed to enjoy.

When her shift finally came to an end, Clara packed up her things, said goodbye to Leah, and left.

She pulled the hood of her jacket over her head as she left the diner, and stuffed her hands deep into her pockets. The cloudy sky covered any light the moon had to offer, leaving the dimly lit streets of the neighbourhood in shadows. She was glad the snowy season had passed, but the night's winds still tingled against her face and made white puffs of smoke out of her breath.

It wasn't until she'd walked a few blocks that she realised there was someone behind her.

A man.

Twenty or so meters back. She could hear the sounds of his boots against the pavement. See him out of the corner of her eye as she turned her head ever so slightly. Black jacket and boots. _Is it the same creepy guy from the store?_

A block later Clara glanced back discreetly once more, only to find now he wasn't alone. There were two of them now.

 _Where had he come from?_

These guys were definitely following her.

She didn't have a bag on her, and her clothes were old and shabby. And if this _was_ the man from before, he'd seen her leaving a shitty job at a diner. The most they would get out of her was pocket change.

So, Clara concluded, unless they were stupid, these men were probably in search of something more than just money.

When the caught sight of three more men waiting across the intersection at the end of the block, she almost skid to a complete stop. Dressed in black like the other two, they stared Clara down in a way that was nothing short of conspicuous. How many more of them were there? She took in a deep breath, trying to calm her now quickening heartbeat. This wasn't some unorganised robbery. Like a predator stalking its prey, they were surrounding her.

She thought about how she would handle them, listening to their footsteps as they seemingly picked up the pace and drew closer to her. She'd been in her fair share of fights before, but five? That was going to cause a scene. If they had knives, or guns? That was a different story. She didn't have plans to get shot anytime soon. The pragmatic voice in her brain had finally decided the ideal course of action.

She was going to run.

Clara slipped around the next corner into an alleyway. Once out of view, she ran as fast as she could down the alleyway and into the next street, where she kept running. There was an unearthly power in her movements, smooth and controlled, but propelling her forward like a dart. One left, two rights. Just to be safe, she followed a path in the opposite direction of her home. She knew the streets of Queens well, and the many nooks and crannies of streets that were all connected in some way or another. There was no way they'd be able to catch up to her, not unless they also had superpowers.

Clara made a sharp turn into the next alleyway, turning backwards momentarily to check behind her. Her heart nearly flew out of her chest when she collided with something.

 _Not something, someone._

Her next reaction was impulsive. She grabbed the persons forearm and swung them over her shoulders, and watched in short-lived panic as they somehow managed to land smoothly on their feet. In an instant she sent her fist flying into their face. The force of it sent the them flying, their back smacking against the brick wall of the alley.

"Ow! What the Hell—"

In the darkness of the alleyway, Clara struggled to make out his face clearly. But what she _could_ see was the bare legs and arms, and smooth skin surrounding taut stomach muscle. Whoever it was, they were naked— with the exception of plaid boxer shorts. Her mind raced. She'd hit him square on. Even barely at full strength, a normal person wouldn't be standing after that, much less conscious at all. And that was _not_ the voice of a black-van-driving kidnapper. Hell, it wasn't even a man at all. It was the voice of a teenage boy, and one that she had definitely heard before.

"Holy shit! You punch really—" The boy audibly winced. His voice high and in obvious distress. "—really hard."

The boy's tentative hand reached up to feel his bruised cheekbone, and Clara's eyes were now just beginning to adjust fully to the lighting. A familiar red and blue spandex suit lay pooled on the ground beside him, next to a school bag overflowing with clothing.

She turned back to the boy in front of her. Even in her panicked state, she felt her jaw drop in disbelief. Her eyes moved between the boy, and the contents splayed on the floor all around him. Any sense of tension she felt was gone, now replaced by confusion. It was as if a lightbulb had suddenly gone off in her head.

"Peter?"

* * *

 ** _A/N: Let me know what you thought about this chapter! Any constructive criticism that will help me for future chapters is very welcome :)_**

 ** _It's taken me a while to figure out where I want this story to go so I'm making sure I do all that before I rush into the story and realise that it's too late to go back and change it. I'm really big on building different characters relationships with each other, but now that this chapter's over there'll definitely be more Peter :)_**

 ** _aalicccceee: Thank you so much! That really means a lot so I hope you like where the story goes from here._**

 ** _Guest: I always think its weird too, a lot of the work I've read jump into relationships within the first three chapters and it always feels so forced and awkward. Thank you for the nice review!_**


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